scoonts.theminotaur-第42部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


structure　in　the　town　known　as　Deegon's　Well。　That　building　was　a　whorehouse。　Presumably　it　also　contained　the　office　of　the　mayor　and　the　rest　of　the　municipal　employees。　From　this　distance　it　appeared　to　be　just　a　tiny　box　on　the　desert。　He　knew　it　was　painted　black　and　had　two　stories　and　no　windows　because　he　had　once　inspected　it　from　the　parking　lot　in　front。　Just　a　tourist；　of　course。
　He　keyed　his　ICS　mike　to　call　Rita's　attention　to　this　famous　landmark；　but　thought　better　of　it。
　Rita　was　checking　the　fuel　remaining　in　the　various　tanks。　He　pressed　his　head　against　the　radar　hood　and　examined　the　cursor　position。
　He　heard　a　whump；　a　loud；　loose　whump；　and　instantaneously　the　air　pressure　and　noise　level　rose　dramatically。　Something　struck　him。　He　jerked　his　head　back　from　the　hood　and　looked　around　wildly。
　The　wind　howled；　shrieked；　screamed；　even　through　his　helmet。　Rita　was　back　against　her　seat；　slumped　down；　covered　with　gore；　her　right　hand　groping　wildly　for　her　face。
　A　bird！　They　had　hit　a　bird。
　He　keyed　the　ICS　without　conscious　thought　and　said　her　name。　He　couldn't　hear　the　sound　of　his　own　voice。
　The　plane　was　rolling　off　on　one　wing；　the　nose　dipping。　He　used　his　left　hand　to　grab　the　stick　between　Rita's　knees　and　center　it。
　Slow　down。　They　had　to　slow　down；　had　to　lessen　the　velocity　of　the　wind　funneling　through　that　smashed…out　left　quarter　panel。　The　bird　must　have　e　through　there　and　crashed　against　Rita　as　she　bent　over　the　fuel　management　panel　on　the　left　console。
　He　pulled　back　on　the　stick　to　bring　the　nose　up　into　a　climb　and　concentrated　on　keeping　the　wings　level。　Higher。　Higher。　Twenty　degrees　nose…up。　Airspeed　dropping：　250　indicated；　240；　230…he　should　drop　the　gear　and　flaps；　get　this　flying　pig　slowed　way　down…210　knots。
　The　gear　handle　was　on　the　left　side　of　the　instrument　panel；　right　under　the　hole　where　the　plexiglas　quarter　panel　used　to　be；　right　under　that　river　of　air　that　was　pressurizing　the　cockpit。
　He　tried　to　reach　it。　Just　beyond　his　fingertips。　Harness　release　unlocked。　No　go。　Juggling　the　stick　with　his　left　hand；　he　used　his　right　to　release　the　two　Koch　fittings　on　the　top　of　his　torso　harness。　If　the　seat　fired　now　he　wouldn't　have　a　parachute。　He　reached　again。　Nope。　He　was　going　to　have　to　unfasten　the　Koch　fittings　that　held　his　bottom　to　the　ejection　seat　With　fingers　that　were　all　thumbs　he　released　the　two　catches；　then　attacked　the　bayonet　fittings　on　his　oxygen　mask。　Might　as　well　get　it　off　too。　He　jerked　loose　the　cord　that　went　to　the　earphones　in　his　helmet。
　Damn…he　was　stalling。　He　could　feel　the　buffet　and　the　nose　pitched　forward。　He　let　it　go　down　and　got　some　airspeed；　then　eased　it　back。
　He　was　having　difficulty　holding　the　wings　level。　Power　at　about　86　percent　on　both　engines。　That　was　okay。　But　the　smell…Jesus　God！
　The　overpowering　odor　made　his　eyes　water。　He　tried　to　breathe　only　through　his　mouth。
　No　longer　restrained　by　the　inertia　reel　in　the　ejection　seat；　he　grasped　the　stick　with　his　right　hand　and　stretched　across　with　his　left　to　the　gear　handle　and　slapped　it　down。
　Now　for　the　flaps。　He　was　lying　across　the　center　console；　trying　to　keep　his　head　out　of　the　wind　blast　as　be　felt　for　the　flap　lever　beside　the　throttle　quadrant。　Leave　the　throttles　alone。　Get　the　flaps　down　to　thirty　degrees。　Fumbling；　he　pulled　the　lever　aft。
　Toad　was　overcorrecting　with　the　stick　as　he　fought　to　keep　the　wings　level；　first　too　much　one　way；　then　too　much　the　other。　Goddamn；　those　peckerhead　pilots　do　this　without　even　thinking　about　it。
　There！　Gear　down　and　locked。　Flaps　and　slats　out；　stabilator　shifted。　Hallelujah。
　He　glanced　up　at　Rita。　She　had　shit　and　blood　and　gore　all　over　her　face　and　shoulders。　Feathers。　They　were　everywhere！
　Her　helmet…it　was　twisted　sideways。　Using　glances；　he　tried　to　wipe　off　the　worst　of　the　crap　with　his　left　hand　as　he　concentrated　on　holding　the　plane　straight　and　level：　140　knots　now；　8；300　feet　on　the　altimeter。　Conditions　in　the　cockpit　were　a　lot　better。
　Were　there　any　mountains　this　high　around　here？　He　couldn't　remember；　and　he　couldn't　see　over　the　top　of　the　instrument　panel；　bent　over　the　way　he　was。
　First　things　first。　He　twisted　her　helmet　back　straight。　The　face　shield　was　shattered；　broken；　but　it　had　protected　her　face　and　eyes　from　the　worst　of　the　impact
　She　was　dazed。　She　damn　well　better　e　out　of　it　quick；　because　he　sure　couldn't　land　this　plane。
　Her　right　eye　was　covered　with　goo；　whether　hers　or　the　bird's　be　couldn't　tell。　He　wiped　at　it　with　his　gloved　fingers。　The　bird's。
　Her　left　eye　was　clear　but　unfocused；　bunking　like　crazy。　〃C'mon；　Rita　baby。　I　can't　keep　flying　this　thing！〃　In　his　frustration　he　shouted。　She　couldn't　hear　him。
　Back　to　the　panel：　135　knots。　Maybe　he　could　engage　the　autopilot。
　Yeah；　the　autopilot。　If　it　would　work。　He　jabbed　at　the　switches　and　released　the　stick　experimentally。　Yeah！　Hot　damn！　It　engaged。
　He　devoted　his　attention　to　her。　Cuffed　her　gently；　rubbed　her　cheeks。　She　shook　her　head　and　raised　her　right　hand　to　her　face。
　He　got　himself　rearranged　in　his　seat　and　held　his　mask　to　his　face。　〃Rita？〃　Nothing。　No　sound　in　his　ears。　Now　what？　He　had　forgotten　to　plug　the　cord　to　his　helmet　back　in。　He　did　so。　〃Goddamnit；　Rita；〃　he　roared。　〃Snap　out　of　it。〃
　Someone　was　talking　on　the　radio。　He　listened。　He　could　hear　the　words　now。　It　was　Grafton。　Toad　keyed　the　radio　mike。　〃We　took　a　bird　hit。　Rita's　a　little　dazed。　We're　going　to　land　at　Fallen　when　she　es　around。〃
　〃Understand　you　took　a　bird。　Where？〃
　〃Right　in　the　cockpit；　CAG。　Hit　Rita　in　the　head。　We're　going　to　Fallen　when　she　es　around。　Now　I'm　leaving　this　freq　and　calling　Fallen　on　Guard。〃　Without　waiting　for　a　reply；　he　jabbed　the　channelization　switches　and　called　Fallen　tower。　〃Fallen　tower；　this　is　Misty　22　on　Guard。　Mayday。　We're　fifteen　or　twenty　mites　out。　Roll　the　crash　truck。〃
　Which　way　are　we　heading？　120　degrees。　He　tugged　the　stick　to　the　right　and　settled　into　a　ten…degree　turn；　which　the　autopilot　held。　Fallen　was　off　to　the　west　here　somewhere。　He　craned　to　see　over　the　instrument　panel　in　that　direction。
　〃Misty　22；　Fallen　tower　on　Guard。　Roger　your　Mayday。　e　up。。。〃　and　the　controller　gave　them　a　discrete　frequency。
　Hey；　stupid；　look　at　the　radar。　He　examined　it。　Be　patient；　Toad；　be　patient。　You're　doing　okay；　if　only　Rita　es　around。　And　if　she　doesn't；　well；　screw　it。　You　can　figure　out　some　way　to　eject　her　right　over　the　runway；　then　you　can　hop　out。　Too　bad　those　penny…pinchers　in　the　puzzle　palace　never　spent　the　bucks　for　a　mand　ejection　system　for　the　A…6。　But　you　can　get　her　out　somehow。　It's　been　done　before。　There…that　must　be　the　base　there；　just　ing　onto　the　screen　from　the　right。　He　waited　until　it　was　dead　ahead；　then　pushed　the　stick　left　until　the　wings　were　level。　Now　he　dialed　in　the　Fallen　tower　freq　and　gave　them　a　call。
　Rita　was　using　her　right　arm　to　get　her　left　up　to　the　throttle　quadrant。　〃Toad？〃
　〃Yeah。　You　okay？〃
　〃What…〃
　〃Bird　strike。　All　that　goo　on　you　is　bird　shit　and　gore。　Relax；　it　ain't　you。　Can　you　see？〃
　〃I　think…right　eye's　blurred。　This　wind。　Left　is　red…blood…can't　see。。。〃
　〃Okay。　I　got　the　gear　and　flaps　down　and　we're　on　autopilot　motoring　toward　Fallen。　After　a　while　or　two　you're　gonna　land　this　thing。　Just　sit　back　right　now　and　get　yourself　going　again。〃
　She　rubbed　at　her　face　with　her　right　hand…
　The　autopilot　dropped　off　the　line。　Automatically　she　grasped　the　stick　and　began　flying。
　〃See；〃　exclaimed　Toad　Tarkington　triumphantly；　〃you　can　do　it！　All　fucking　right！　We're　almost　home。　Raise　your　left　wing。〃　She　did　so　and　he　resumed　his　monologue；　only　to　pause　occasionally　to　answer　a　question　over　the　radio。
　Rita　Moravia　flew　by　instinct；　her　vision　restricted　to　one　eye；　and　that　giving　her　only　a　blurred　impression　of　the　attitude　instruments　on　the　panel　before　her。　It　was　enough。　She　could　feel　the　plane　respond　to　her　touch；　and　confirmation　of　that　response　was　all　she　needed　from　her　vision。　Needed　now。　She　would　need　to　see　a　lot　better　to　land。　The　wind…it　was　part　of　the　problem。　The　wind　wasn't　ing　into　the　plane　through　the　shattered　quarter　panel　at　140　knots…the　closed　cockpit　prevented　that…but　it　was　ing　in　at　an　unfortable　velocity　and　temperature。
　Cold。　She　was　cold。　She　should　slow　some　more。
　She　tugged　at　the　throttles　with　her　left　hand。　Her　arm　was　numb：　her　fingers　felt　like　they　were　frozen。　The　power　levers　came　back；　though　the　engine…RPM　and　fuel…flow　tapes　were　too　blurred　to　read。　Still　she　turned　her　head　and　squinted　with　her　good　eye。　She　could　make　out　the　angle…of…attack　stoplight　indexer　on　the　glare　shield　and　trimmed　to　an　on…speed　condition。
　For　the　first　time　she　looked　outside；　trying　to　see　the　ground。　Just　a　blurred　brown　backdrop。　But　Toad　could　get　her　lined　up。
　She　tried　to　make　her　left　thumb　depress　the　ICS　button；　and　after　a　few　seconds　succeeded。　〃Where　are　we？〃
　〃e　left　about　twenty　degrees　and　start　a　descent　to。。。　oh；　say；　six　thousand。　Can　you　see？〃
　〃I　can　see　to　fly。　Can't　see　outside　very　well。　Get　me　lined　up　and　all　and　I　think　I　can　do　it〃
　Toad　got　back　on　the　radio。
　She　made　the　heading　change　and　only　then　retarded　the　throttles　slightly　and　let　the　nose　slip　down　a　degree　or　so。　One　thing　at　a　time。　She　had　once　had　an　instructor　who　liked　to　chant　that　to　his　students；　who　were　often　in　over　their　heads。　When　it's　all　going　to　hell；　he　used　to　say；　just　do　one　thing　at　a　time。
　The　plane　sank　slowly；　the　altimeter　needle　swinging　counterclockwise　with　about　the　speed　of　an　elevator　indicator。　So　they　had　all　day。　Go　down　slow　and　you　have　an　easy　transition　at　the　bottom。　Go　down　too　fast　and。。。　As　she　sat　there　she　continued　to　blink　and　flex　her　left　arm。　Doesn't　feel　like　anything's　broken；　just　numb。　Maybe　the　world's　most　colorful　bruise　on　my　shoulder；　some　orange…and…purple　splotch　that　will　be　the　envy　of　every　tattooed　motorcyclist　north　of　Juarez。
　She　was　hurting　now。　As　the　numbness　wore　off　she　was　hurting。　Her　face　felt　like　someone　had　used　a　steak　hammer　on　it。　Like　she　had　slid　down　the　sidewalk　on　her　cheekbone　for　a　couple　hundred